


The Damage is Done

by ltcommkat



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7836061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ltcommkat/pseuds/ltcommkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something happens that Donnie can't fix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Damage is Done

The lab was dark except for the bright blue of the computer monitors, each flashing "NO SIGNAL". The room lay silent; no motors running, the whir of computer fans and the turning of gears still for once. Donatello sat in front of the keyboard, eyes open but staring at nothing, just as motionless as the rest of the lab.

The day had started out normally, all things considered. Training went well. Donnie had been able to achieve a level of concentration that he wasn't able to reach normally, and had even bested Leonardo once or twice. His pride had swelled, grinning like an overexcited child as he swung his bo just right and knocked his older brother's legs out from under him. Leo had been impressed, betting him that he couldn't do it again.

Donnie took that determination and focus with him back to the lab after training, and was able to make some real headway on an experiment he'd been struggling with for a while. It was one of those days where everything seemed to be just clicking into place the right way. So when night fell, and Donnie was to go out for patrol, he really didn't think much of it. Just another uneventful sweep of the city, then back to the lab. With his lucky streak he anticipated a long, productive night.

He and Mikey had split up to cover more ground. He was excited to get back to work. His footsteps fell quickly and silently, his ninja training coming naturally, telling him how to move, when to move, the exact amount of coil to build in his muscles to propel him from one rooftop to the next. Donnie felt light that night, moving like a bird rather than a mutant turtle, even with all his gear weighing him down.

So when he landed on that specific rooftop, suddenly surrounded by Foot ninjas shrouded in black, weapons ready, he was surprised, but also ready. He crouched immediately, staff out and turning in his hands threateningly. There weren't many of them, only five, and it seemed he'd interrupted them while attempting to break into the building. He wondered what was in there that the Foot clan might be interested in. They didn't give him much time to think on it as they charged him all at once.

Thinking back on the battle, Donnie shifted finally, covering his face with his hands in an attempt to block out the images flashing by, wanting to stop the story before it progressed any further in his head. It was no use. He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying harder to gnash out the sounds of their cries as his staff connected and sent them flying one by one. He took them down easily by himself, though he had used the walkie on his shoulder to call Mikey for backup. Most had taken their blows and had retreated quickly, knowing that even though the turtle was outnumbered, they didn't stand a chance. The entire encounter took a matter of minutes, and then it was over, Donnie standing at the ready, catching his breath. Then he noticed the one figure left, still on the ground.

Donnie knew instantly that something was wrong.

Sitting in his lab, his breathing started to accelerate as he remembered approaching the fallen enemy with caution. The Foot ninja was making odd noises that grew louder the closer he got, a mixture of wet gurgling and whimpering. Realizing he was probably severely injured, Donnie kicked into doctor mode and quickly knelt down next to the figure. It didn't take a genius to see that the problem was a metal pipe that was sticking out of the man's gut.

Donnie stared wide-eyed at the damage. There was blood seeping from the wound, thick and black in the dim lighting. The metallic scent filled the turtle's sinuses, strong and nauseating as he pulled his goggles down over his eyes with shaking hands. Even with his limited medical experience, he was sure the fallen ninja was not going to survive this. He had landed on the hollow metal pipe and it had gone right through him, cutting chunks out of the lining of his stomach and his large intestine. Even if Donnie was able to lift him off the pipe without his innards spilling completely out, he wouldn't be able to stitch up the damage, and there wasn't a hospital close enough to do it in time, either. He was going to die.

And as Donatello knelt next to the dying man, he knew it was his fault.

He wasn't able to speak, but Donnie could see his mouth moving under the mask, opening and closing like a fish's mouth. He reached up slowly, tugging on the ninja's mask until it slipped off his face. Emotion was welling up with panic at the sight of his face, as he realized it wasn't a man at all but a mere teenager. A kid, no older than fifteen at most. His bright blue eyes shifted wildly, filled to the brim and spilling over with tears that ran back over his temples and into his dark hair. Donnie stared, mouth open, bile rising in his throat, choking him.

Just then Michelangelo arrived finally, rushing to his brother and stopping short as he caught sight of all the blood. The color drained from the orange-clad turtle as he stared dumbly in horror at the scene in front of him.

"D-Don… What happened?" Michelangelo could only manage a whisper.

The purple-clad brother tore his eyes away from the carnage to look at his younger brother. He was breathless, never having experienced anything like this before. He didn't have an answer.

Mikey swallowed hard, looking like he was about to be sick. More than the scene before them, he hated the tortured look in his brother's eyes. It made him squirm, instinctually wanting to better the situation. "Uhh, eh, come on Donnie…" He looked around, anxiety building the longer they stayed. "We gotta go, man."

Donnie looked back at the boy just as his breath was picking up painfully, quick and shallow. And then he stopped. His chest went still. The life drained from his eyes, which dulled. It was over.

Something in Donatello snapped suddenly, and he began shaking the body hard. "No! You can't die! Wake UP!" he shouted desperately. The frantic movements were splattering blood everywhere, all over his pants and plastron, and the tech strapped to him.

Back in his lab, he sat alone, still covered in the boy's blood. Michelangelo had dragged him away, begging him to stop, tears streaming down his face. Once off the rooftop, Donatello moved like a zombie, no thought, muscle memory alone telling him how to put each foot in front of the other. He ignored his brother's protests as he veered off to the lab. He needed to be alone. Needed to think.

As he stared at his hands now, which until then he thought were only capable of creating, he wondered about all the times he'd fought the Foot clan and left their soldiers on the ground without looking back. How many lives had been snuffed out because of him, even unintentionally?

The boy's face haunted him. He groaned and stood abruptly, pacing back and forth a few times. Something was building in him the more times the scene flashed in his mind, something he didn't have words for and couldn't contain. That boy's face, mouth gaping open with blood dripping down his cheek, eyes searching for something as the life slipped out of him… Every time Donnie closed his yes, that's what he saw.

Suddenly, a scream ripped through the turtle as the buildup bubbled over like boiling liquid. He grabbed the nearest thing to him, his keyboard, and ripped it away from his setup, throwing it across the room. Next he moved on the monitors, tearing them off the stands and crashing them to the ground one by one, followed by the collection of coffee mugs on his desk, half of which were still filled with coffee that was long cold. He wiped them all off the desk in one sweeping motion, then crumpled to the ground amongst the broken screens and ceramic.

His chest heaved as he choked on sobs, ripping his goggles and glasses off his head to bury his face in the crook of his arm. He stayed like that a long time, riding out the storm, mourning the boy.

The next morning he woke suddenly, still surrounded by the wreckage that was his lab. He wasn't sure how to continue. He didn't want to tell the rest of his family what had happened. So he didn't. He simply cleaned himself up, and began rebuilding his life's work. The logical side of his brain had finally clicked back on, and it was such a relief to him. He spent the day alone, picking up the mess he'd made, salvaging what he could and quietly mourning the things he couldn't.

He made a conscious decision to let the whole situation go. It would take time, he knew, lots of time. But it was too late to take it back. The damage had been done.


End file.
